rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Dampened

There was an afternoon vacillating between sunny and gray, and I planned to go out about three o'clock to visit Kmart, but I got distracted. A lucky thing, too, as about twenty past three the sky opened up and, had I been out, I'd have gotten soaked. The rain continued for another hour, by which time it was too late to go anywhere, so my trip out will have to wait until Monday. Being stuck indoors on a somewhat dismal day I spent the rest of the afternoon dipping into the volume of Thomas Hardy's poetry I bought a few weeks ago. That put a fine edge on my morose mood.

As I kept snacking this evening I'm just now getting around to dinner. I've got stuff for tacos, which might cheer me up a bit, or might make me nostalgically depressed over the real tacos of Los Angeles I can no longer get to. But given that I'm a bit irritable when I'm hungry I'm thinking a cheering up is slightly more likely. I'll take my chances. I really need to eat. Plus there's beer, and I might get around to baking that frozen apple pie I bought at Safeway last week. I've got ice cream too. If that can[t cheer me up nothing ever will.




Sunday Verse



The Darkling Thrush


by Thomas Hardy


I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

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